


The Cut of His Jib

by talktidy



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talktidy/pseuds/talktidy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarek has a new wardrobe - silliness ahead. I am still trying to improve, so any comments would be much appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cut of His Jib

"Sarek, you owe me!" Amanda entered the quarters the Riffitsi had assigned Vulcan's illustrious ambassador and his consort. She closed the door behind her and sagged against its intricately carved wooden surface.

He looked away from the mirror. "My wife?"

"Riffitsi notions of high culture." A scornful huff followed which, in fairness to his wife, she only allowed herself because of the anti-surveillance screen he had installed. "That is two hours of my life I am never getting back." She toed off her sandals, and performed a strange one-footed balletic dance, bending a knee and swinging each foot upward in turn to massage away soreness. "I am going to soak my arches and the rest of me."

It was quite a performance this façade of joking combativeness, but if one knew her, the signs of stress and incipient depression were easily read.

She set course for the bathroom, sparing a glance for him on the way. She finally registered he was lingering over an assessment of his appearance in a floor length mirror. "Admiring the cut of your jib, my husband? Yes, you're a handsome, handsome Vulcan." Her expression turned droll. "As if there were any doubt in the matter." She halted in her tracks and stared. "Actually, Sarek, what on earth are you up to?"

Terran colloquialisms had long since ceased to bewilder. "I am modelling attire our hosts have gifted me. They have deemed this ensemble to be suitable apparel for this evening's reception." He displayed a side profile and Amanda's eyes went huge.

"Suitable apparel for this evening's reception?" Something suspiciously like a gurgle bubbled out of her throat. "Sarek, is that a cod piece?" The gurgle erupted again. In an endeavour at decorum, his wife clamped her jaw tight, but he moved and his attire waggled in a manner that indicated incorrectly fitted fastenings. The gurgle turned into a full on giggle that morphed into hiccupping laughter. He told himself not to be concerned. This was not abnormal behaviour for a Terran.

Amanda strove for and finally summoned control. "You were intending to wear that clothing tonight?" The giggling subsided, although her voice warbled in a peculiarly high-pitched manner.

Under no circumstances.

"You think it unwise?" The mirror returned an image of Vulcan's ambassador at large at his most innocent.

Amanda came to him and instead of a finger touch, wrapped her arms about his neck; she landed a kiss on his nose. "I prefer to think I am the only one to get a load of your credentials."

Her colour, at least, had improved. He tightened his embrace and Amanda responded, leaning in for another kiss and this time one with more enthusiasm. Hands went exploring and came to rest upon the curious new addition to his wardrobe.

"This thing is unexpectedly roomy. I think the Riffitsi really, really must be quite impressed with you."

"Be careful, my wife, lest you start—"

She bit his ear, which always led to the point of no return. He scooped her up and headed for their bedchamber.

xxx

Amanda, snug and content, lay in his arms. She traced a finger down the centre of his chest in a caress and leant in and placed a kiss there. "Thank you."

He stilled. "My wife?"

"Don't give me that lofty eyebrow or that butter wouldn't melt. I'm on to you buster." She kissed him again. "I needed that little spot of masterpiece theatre. A cunning distraction. Thank you."

There was a reason he gravitated to this woman.

"Amanda, I fear this marriage of ours places more strain, more obligations on you, obligations I am unable to reciprocate."

"Hey, whoa there!" She rolled atop him and stared into his eyes with a fierce intensity. "I do not regret our marriage, if that's where you were headed." She placed a gentle finger on his lips, when he opened his mouth to respond. "I am not the first mother to be separated from her child, but I wouldn't have agreed to accompany you here if the stakes were not so high, and the Riffitsi's strange notions of the status of a married man meant you were the most logical candidate. It's just an annoyance that their attitude to marriage demands my presence as an adjunct to your overwhelming magnificence."

"You have forbidden me to arrange for a subspace call to Vulcan."

Amanda sighed. "We have been over this. Yes, I miss him, but I do not want Spock unsettled for my selfish needs. At five I do not think he is equal to his parents appearing and disappearing out of his life in that fashion. It would only distress him."

"I thought you might say that." He threw bedcovers aside, rose out of their bed and padded over to where his clothing lay discarded on the floor. He found the pocket with the data pad and returned to the embrace of his wife, who regarded the pad with frank curiosity.

He handed it to her. "It is Spock's school project."

"Indeed it is," said his wife, who had already located and opened the marked file.

"I must leave you. I have an engagement with the Riffitsi liaison in forty-two point four minutes."

"Uh huh."

He had seen that look of intense concentration before; he anticipated Amanda's attention would not stray until she had absorbed the file's entire contents, but she surprised him.

"Sarek," she said, looking up. "That cod piece. I think you should wear it tonight. A woman always needs somewhere to stash her make-up."

End

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is nicer than a day spent at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.


End file.
